Elena Gilbert and Her Escort Damon Salvatore
by theangeliclittledemon
Summary: Some internal thoughts and feelings on Damon and Elena's first dance, plus a cute, slightly OOC moment back at the boarding house. (Spoiler: Sleepy Damon!)
1. The Dance

**A/N: Would you believe I wrote this when I was like 11? Found this on my old computer, fixed a few errors, and thought I would share it. Might turn this into a two-shot if it gets any feedback. Enjoy!**

**(Oh, and also, DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything about these characters expect for my own manipulation of their lives. Again, enjoy.) ;)**

"Elena Gilbert and her escort Stefan Salvatore!" said the announcer. With a quick deep breath and a plastered on smile, I started my descent down the staircase to the applauding crowd.

As I neared the ground floor of the Lockwood mansion in my floor length blue gown, my nerves spiked as I saw Stefan nowhere in sight. Where was he? Stefan couldn't possibly leave me stranded at such a big event so carelessly, even when he was on human blood. I started to panic as my eyes helplessly flickered over the crowd. _Where is he, where is he, where the __**hell **__is he?_

Then, miraculously, blue eyes and raven black hair appeared, and I almost collapsed with the relief that I wouldn't be completely humiliated in front of all of Mystic Falls.

Damon gave me a small smile as we made eye contact, and I slowed my pace and visibly relaxed. "Where's Stefan?" I whispered. I thought I saw a flicker of something behind his eyes, but it was gone and covered by his walls too quick to decipher what exactly it was.

"I don't know." he whispered back. I took his hand less reluctantly than I probably should have, and we made our way out onto the dance floor.

I saw Jenna and Alaric's confused expressions as I came out with him, my hand clasped securely in Damon's. I only caught a glimpse of them, but Jenna looked appalled, yet Alaric looked as if the surprise were merely unpleasant. Our hands broke contact as we took our respective places as the pleasant first notes of the song started up. We bowed to each other and, with our faces close, I whispered, "What are we going to do?"

"We just have to get through this, then we'll figure everything out." he muttered reassuringly out of the side of his mouth, and I can't help but love the way his mouth curves in something other than a condescending smirk.

I eye him a little warily for not making some smartass remark, but all he does is give me a small nod. Things with Stefan must be really bad for Damon to act so…so normal. Serious.

We lift up our right arms first and align our hands to an almost-touch.

_The intimacy of the near-touch, _Mrs. Lockwood's voice rings in my head as we begin to circle each other.

I forget _everything._

My blood-addicted boyfriend, my on-again-off-again hatred for the man I'm currently dancing with, all my troubles, my ever-present guilty conscience. Everything. Dancing with Damon is magical, unlike anything I've ever felt. _Amazing. _

His eyes are so spectacularly pale blue in the sunlight, and somewhere I'm marveling at how dashing he looks in his suit. I don't let myself feel guilty for this. And I wonder in the back of my mind exactly _what _I should be feeling guilty for. A dance is nothing indecent, nothing Stefan would freak out about. And it's Stefan's fault in the first place for probably _eating_ some poor girl instead of dancing with me while his brother saves the day.

I want to scold myself for blaming Stefan. I want to feel guilty for not supporting him right now instead of dancing with Damon, falling farther and farther and farther into his brother's strong embrace. But I just can't seem to feel any of it as I look up into Damon's eyes, and fall into them too. There's a tiny smile curling the side of his lips, and paired with the soft way he's looking at me, and the ease at which he holds me, I have the out-of-place impulse to place kisses all over his body and show him how cherished he is.

But that's just silly.

As the dance continues, I see how well we move together, like we've been dancing with each other our entire lives, when in fact this is the first time we've danced. I see him realizing the same thing, (it's always scared me, how well we read each other) and we both break into hesitant smiles, as if we're not sure how to go about being genuinely happy in each others company.

I started this dance reluctant and nervous because this was always my mom's thing; she signed me up for the Miss Mystic Falls pageant, and I agreed because it made her happy. I wasn't sure that I could get through this without her. But now, I couldn't be happier that I did go through with it. Damon pulls me into his arms and only one word comes to my mind; _home._

I'm lost, and I can see that he is too. In this moment, we are not Damon and Elena. We are not vampire and human, friend or foe. We are just _us_.

I smile full-watt now, not caring what is right or wrong, not caring what the crowd watching us must see. _Not caring_, if only for this one sweet moment. I've never seen this kind of vulnerability on Damon Salvatore's face. I've seen condescension, arrogance, cockiness, his little charming smirk. I've seen cold disdain, and hatred, but never have I seen this look of pure blissful happiness. And a part of me is reveling in the fact that I am the reason for said happiness. I move my hand from its formal position on his shoulder to a casual, familiar hold on his back. I feel his barely repressed shudder and almost smirk in my pleasant surprise.

I haven't been much of a smirk-y person since my parents died, and I know that Damon brings out the old Elena; the girl who was a cheerleader, who went to a party and had a tipsy make-out session once in a while, the girl who lived up to her name, and was indeed, full of light. The girl who was _wild. _

He smirks back at me, obviously amused by something, though I have no idea what. I listen to the lyrics of the song and realize how well the words fit my mood.

_All my agony fades away_

_When you hold me in your embrace_

He subtly, so as not to alert the crowd watching us, waggles his eyebrows at me, and just this once, I let myself do a little flirty eye movement back at him.

I mean, it is sort of required, right? That is the only reason I'm having potential eye sex with Damon.

Mrs. Lockwood's voice penetrates my thoughts again; _Flirt with your eyes._

I decide not to feel guilty for that one.

I don't really realize when the music ends, and Damon has to give me a small nudge back, though he looks a bit regretful too. I blush, and strangely, he looks a bit flushed too, for a vampire. We both look around at the audience, squinting against the sun, as if both coming out of a trance. Which we kind of are. But now, we are ourselves again. He is Damon Salvatore; colossal asshole, charmer, sex god, the man who rarely shows his humanity, and vampire extraordinaire. And I am once again Elena Gilbert, doppelganger, girl full of maybe a bit _too _much humanity, trusting girlfriend of an animal eating vampire, a girl who is _only friends _with Damon Salvatore, a girl who didn't know how she felt…and a girl who is totally lying to herself.

Later that night, Elena and Damon were looking at Stefan through the bars of his cell, both still in their formal-wear from the party.

"I hate seeing him like this." Elena said, more to herself than Damon. Of course, he replied anyway.

"Well, we couldn't have him running around chewing on people now that the council's on alert, now could we?" Elena gave him a knowing look. It killed him that she actually _did _seem to know him better than himself.

"Right. And it had nothing to do with you actually caring about him or anything..." _It has everything to do with that, _he thought.

"Your thing, not mine." he replied in a heavy voice. He was cranky and surprisingly exhausted considering the whole 'being a vampire' thing. He moved to leave and looked back over his shoulder. "You coming?" he asked.

"No. I'm gonna stay down here a while." She sat down on the cold cement floor. He thought for a minute, and with a sigh, sat on the floor across from her. She looked a little shocked, but he didn't see why; she knew he would do almost anything for her even if he wouldn't say that out loud. He found himself lost in thoughts of their dance and its short lived glory.

Elena knew that she should be thinking about how they were going to manage fixing Stefan, or maybe she should be broodingly staring at his cell door, or be up in his room, crying into his pillows. Well the last one was a bit dramatic, but you get the point. But instead of doing any of those things, she was watching Damon with fascination. She had never really seen him as serious as he had been today. And now, instead of making his usual sarcastic remarks and constant sexual innuendos, he seemed to be deep in thought, not even sensing her scrutiny.

Now that she looked closely, she could see the tired lines in his face. She could see that the usual spark of mischief and boyish charm in his icy blue eyes was absent. His walls were down at the moment. He may not even know it, but he was showing her a more human side of himself.

He looked tired, both emotionally and physically. She knew that he wouldn't say it, and probably didn't even know it himself, but he was more human than he let on. It was immensely comforting to her, somehow.

As she had been contemplating, Damon was nodding off, which she found strange, him being a vampire and all. Not even Stefan seemed to get tired unless he had been injured, and she knew for a fact Damon was fine; injury-free.

She watched in slight bewilderment as his head swayed back and forth, his eyes closing and clearly trying to stay open. Finally his head became too heavy for his sagging shoulders and it fell heavily onto his pulled up knees. She watched on in pity. He was clearly exhausted. And the only reason he stayed down here was because he didn't want her to be alone. She sighed quietly and stood up. She glanced briefly at Stefan's cell and saw that he was still out cold, and would be for quite a while. Elena bent down and slowly rubbed Damon's arm in a soothing motion, hoping to wake him gently but still enough to get him upstairs and into his bed.

"No…." he mumbled, like a sleepy child, burying his head farther into his knees. Elena smiled at him. He was being almost unbearably cute right now.

"Damon…come on; let's get this big bad vampire into bed." A smirk kicked up the side of her mouth as she said this and she realized maybe she had been spending a bit too much time with aforementioned big bad vampire.

He groaned, clearly still out of it. Elena tugged gently on his arm a few more times, and he finally stumbled up. She put an arm around his waist as they made their way lazily to Damon's room, his head resting on Elena's shoulder. Now that she wasn't too entranced by his eyes to speak, she had time to wonder why all these gestures felt so natural. Even more natural, dare she say it, than they ever felt with Stefan.

Damon's eyes were still closed as they walked into his room.(Stefan had shown her where it was weeks before, in case she needed protection and he wasn't there.) Elena started to strip his suit jacket off and took his loose tie from around his neck, tossing them on the big chest standing at the foot of his four-poster bed. She knew it would be a futile attempt to get someone this tired to change his clothes but she wanted him to be as comfortable as possible. She couldn't say why. But she did.

"Knew you couldn't keep your hands off me…" he mumbled drowsily with a pale imitation of his usual smirk. She chuckled. Maybe he wasn't acting so childlike this evening.

"Yes, you're just irresistible." she mocked in a playful tone.

He just groaned tiredly in response, all trace of flirting gone. She pulled back the blankets on his bed, still laughing lightly.

"Come on Mr. Serial Killer, lets tuck you in!" she said in a mock-cheery tone. She tried to be mocking and distant, but it was still odd as hell to be tucking a vampire, no not just a vampire;_ Damon Salvatore _into bed like a little kid. He smiled crookedly, his eyes half open, as he made his way to the bed and flopped onto it. He sighed as his eyes closed in bliss like he had just landed on a cloud. Practically before his head hit the pillow, he was asleep. His eyes were moving behind the lids rapidly and she wondered idly what he must dream about every night. Did he dream about his life as a human? Did he dream about making amends with his brother…or maybe Katherine coming back to him and offering her forgiveness and taking him back? The thought strangely brought a wave of resentment. But she immediately pushed it away and locked it up in a far away corner of her mind, and focused instead on removing a sleeping Damon's shoes. She set his socks and shoes at the foot of the bed and pulled his comforter up around him. He instinctively pulled the blanket closer to himself and snuggled into it.

"Oh Damon," she sighed. "I will make this come back to bite you in the ass if you piss me off." she whispered with another smirk.

Her expression softened as she stared at his sleeping face, so free of burden. So peaceful. She knew it probably wasn't a good idea, but she reached a hand out and caressed his face in a feather light touch. First tracing his eyebrows that rose comically at times and scrunched in confusion or worry in others. Then she traced his wonderfully sculpted cheekbones. Then his perfectly angular nose that could smell blood from a mile away. And finally, his lips, so soft and plump and dare she say, kissable. She let her hand cup his cheek in a loving manor, knowing she'd probably never get another chance to do this. Damon startled her as he leaned into her touch, nuzzling her warm hand. He inhaled deeply in his sleep and let it out in a content sigh.

"Elena…" he whispered. She froze in fear that she had been caught and braced herself for the awkwardness soon to follow, but he seemed to be still unconscious, now with a small smile gracing his features. Despite her efforts, she couldn't help but feel some hidden euphoria that he seemed to recognize her scent, even in his sleep, and associate it with such happiness. She rubbed her thumb soothingly across his cheek one more time and pulled her hand away slowly, not wanting to risk waking him. Halfway to the door, she heard a velvety sweet voice whisper behind her.

"Stay…" she turned to see Damon, looking at her through a sleepy haze.

She hesitated. He was practically still asleep. He didn't know what he was saying. The situation probably brought up some repressed memories of his mother and he, in his daze probably thought she was her. He saw her hesitation and decided his pride had already been ruined with her. "Elena, please…stay?" he asked in a voice so vulnerable she couldn't take it, and she nodded. He smiled like he had just resolved something and closed his eyes. He was already fast asleep when she turned out the light and walked back across the room to his bed. She wondered if she should just leave since he wouldn't know either way, but if she was being honest, she wanted this too. She didn't want to be alone tonight after what she witnessed with Stefan. And with him just downstairs, she was uneasy and probably wouldn't get much sleep alone. She knew there was no way he could escape his cell, and she felt horrible for being so wary of him, but she knew when he was on human blood, it was best to be wary.

She climbed into Damon's bed as quietly as she could, trying not to wake him. He stayed sound asleep. She watched him longingly for a moment then thought, _what the hell _and snuggled in closer to him. His arm came up instinctively around her waist as he muttered something unintelligible in his sleep. She rested her head hesitantly on his chest and closed her eyes. She was exhausted, and finally felt safe in Damon's arms. She fell asleep almost instantly. They lay snuggled into each other all night, moving around in their sleep but somehow never breaking contact. It was the best night of sleep either of them had had in a very long time.

**A/N: Let me know what you thought!**


	2. How We Play

Damon tossed in his bed uncomfortably, huffing as he practically pried his face from his pillow. He'd been having particularly pleasant dreams before he'd woken up; he couldn't think up any images or plots from the dreams, just the feelings of warmth and light and goodness flooding his senses. The feeling of a hand in his, and a kiss on his cheek, skin against skin. A bubbly laugh and warm brown eyes coaxing him out of darkness.

Dreams of love.

Blinking confusedly, he realized there actually _was _a hand in his, and some of the feelings from his dreams rose up in him unbidden. Looking down, he saw a tan hand with fingers intertwined messily (but somehow _perfectly_) with his pale ones. He knew that olive skin, those clean cut fingernails.

_Elena? _

Was it actually possible that Elena Gilbert was currently residing in his bed? How had they even gotten here? He couldn't remember much of last night, his memory cutting off somewhere around the time he'd decided to stay downstairs in the basement with Elena. (She had looked so utterly heartbroken and alone. How was he supposed to ignore that?) Had Elena gotten a little too hands-y with that nifty little vervain dart of hers and decided to try it out on him, too? Maybe.

He hated the over-all confusion he was feeling. What the hell had happened?

Finally getting the nerve to do so, he shifted his gaze from their hands to her face, confirming his suspicions that the girl in bed with him was, in fact, none other than his brother's girlfriend. Her previously curled hair was frazzled and fanned out around her head, where her thin arm was curved lazily as she used it for a stand-in pillow. Her lips were slightly parted and still holding traces of the lip gloss she'd worn the day before, her light makeup was smudged, and he thought he could spot a smear of eye makeup on his _very _expensive sheets, but he didn't care. In fact, he didn't think he could muster up a good fit of rage at her even if she had needlessly shot him in the foot. Because, damn it all, she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on. Reaching out and brushing a stray curl from her face, he heard her heart rate pick up noticeably, and he smirked. So she was awake.

"I know you're awake, you little faker." He teased, his voice unused and hoarse, but he still got the desired reaction when she sighed and her eyes popped open, looking almost the color of scotch as she gazed up at him groggily. That was something about Elena that he'd never seen in Katherine. Katherine's eyes were always deep pools of a brown, almost black color, or sometimes when she was in a particular light, they'd turn back to a soft, dull brown.

But sometimes, Elena caught him off guard with how truly golden her eyes could turn, flecks of deeper brown playing near her pupils. It was something he thought was beautiful, and entirely unique to her. It was these moments when he completely associated Elena with herself and didn't once have the thought of her evil doppelganger cross his mind. Those initial thoughts of Katherine when he saw Elena were becoming less and less frequent, he noted, and they almost didn't exist anymore.

"At least I've finally discovered the allure of your bedroom," Elena's voice interrupted his thoughts, her morning voice soft and husky at the same time, her tone teasing. "The soft down pillows, the expensive sheets; it's the bed that keeps em' coming. I feel like I'm in freaking Nirvana right now."

He felt a surprised smirk pull at his lips, and let it spread across his face. Snarky and witty was one of his favorite moods of hers, and it was curious to him that the first time he'd seen it since their trip to Georgia was when she was in his bed.

"Speaking of," he tried to keep his voice calm and drawling, holding back his irritation and confusion. "_How _did you get into my bed? Actually, how did _I_?" Okay, so maybe his irritation was showing. Elena blanched, her cheeks turning red and her mouth opening and closing for a few moments before she finally found her words. "You-you don't remember?"

He might have drawn his own scandalous conclusions if they weren't both still dressed in formal wear from the party, but even he knew that Elena would _never _do that to poor bunny-eating Stefan. Before he could voice his thoughts, Elena explained. More like rambled, really. "Well, okay, last night we were sitting outside Stefan's cell in the basement, and I'm so sorry for that by the way, you were so tired and exhausted and you stayed down there with me anyway and I feel really guilty for that, and again, sorry. But then you fell asleep which I thought was _weird, _but anyway, I helped you upstairs cause you were completely out of it and I got you comfortable and I was about to leave and go sleep on the couch or something cause I didn't want to sleep in Stefan's room, but then you asked me to stay and you sounded sad and, so, yeah, I stayed..." she trailed off, taking a deep breath.

Damon wondered if she could breathe at all after her Caroline-esque nervous ramble, but whereas he found Caroline's fast-paced monologues shrill, annoying, and frankly, useless, Elena's rambling was unexpectedly something he'd not once associated with Petrova women; undeniably, unbearably _adorable_. Now that she'd tipped off his memory, he could feel the events of the night before slowly trickling back into his head. Taking his silence the wrong way, Elena cleared her throat uncomfortably, sitting up.

"I shouldn't have stayed; you had no idea what you were saying," A deep sigh/grunt. "I'm sorry."

His eyes widened, and just as she was standing up with her back to him, he grabbed her arm, pulling her back next to him almost with vampire speed. She made a surprised huffing sound, looking up at him with wide brown eyes, confusion and surprise swimming in their depths. "Damon?" she asked, like a prompt.

"Look," he started, knowing his expression must be softer than he'd like it to be. He couldn't help it with her sometimes. "I was in a..." no, _vulnerable _was entirely too true to use. He felt his lips turning up slightly as he decided to take a word out of her vocabulary. "_weird _place last night, and I think I needed some, uh, comfort, so, I just wanted to...thank you, for that." He tried a smile, but knew it probably came off as more of a grimace.

"So, yeah..." _Jesus, he sounded like Jeremy._

"You're welcome." It was barely a whisper.

She was looking at him the same way he was looking at her, and Damon recognized this as one of their "moments", where they forgot everything else and stared meaningfully into each others eyes. These moments were the rare one-of-a-kind moments when Damon felt an odd tickling sensation near his abdomen, as if a nest of butterflies were kick starting deep in his stomach.

Not that he didn't somehow perversely enjoy these moments, but the fact that this was happening in his bed, lying inches away from Elena's face, could potentially make things complicated, and with Stefan on a crazy streak, he _really _needed to avoid complicated.

He stood up, stretching his arms above his head and rolling his neck. The movements were normal, unconscious, but that didn't stop Elena's small gasp. He heard her heart rate pick up again, and inwardly sighed. It was _so hard _to stay away from someone you were attracted to when you could literally _hear _how attracted they were to you.

He started unbuttoning his shirt, going to kick off his shoes before he realized they weren't there. Had Elena really taken his shoes off for him? Maybe she knew how well he cherished his expensive bedding, or maybe she just wanted him to be comfy. Either way, that was so..._sweet. _Nice. He turned to her, and had to restrain himself from staring at how amazing she looked, sitting criss-cross-applesauce in the center of his bed, her still wavy hair an uncontrollable mane that framed her face.

"I'm gonna go ahead and take a shower," he waggled his eyebrows. "But you can stick around if you want. I make a kick ass naked breakfast."

She smiled wryly at him, shaking her head fondly. "Is there anyone you _don't _flirt with?"

He thought for minute, then grimaced. "Yeah. Stefan. Oh, ew, Elena now you made me think of flirting with my little brother. _Yuck_." He gave a visible shudder, turning away and heading for the bathroom, turning the water in the shower on.

"Oh," he heard Elena utter quietly, and he knew by the sound of it that she'd forgotten all about Stefan, and was probably feeling immensely confused and guilty. To be truthful, with how worried he'd been last night, he'd forgotten about everything outside of him and Elena too, until now.

"I need to go check up on him." he heard her say resolutely, and before she was out the door, he had flashed in front of her, holding up a finger. She gasped, hitting him on the chest in frustration. "Don't _do that._"

"Fat chance," he replied. "You are not going down to see Stefan," seeing her irritation, he amended. "_Yet_. You've only seen a fraction of a fraction _of a fraction _of how Stefan is on human blood. He's even worse during detox. If you go down there alone right now, who knows what he'd do or say. Let me go down there with you. How about I take a quick shower, and you can go down to the kitchen and make some breakfast or something?" He had wanted his little speech to be commanding and stern, but by the end, he was practically pleading with her.

He'd expected Elena to give him a hard time, maybe make him go to the point of tying her up for an hour or so just so he could take a shower. But she just rolled her eyes.

"Fine." she said. She didn't sound particularly angry. Did that mean she was just going to do what she wanted anyway? He knew how to fix this. Damon reached toward her, placing her one hand over her heart and the other in the air, palm toward him. "Repeat after me," he started, completely serious.

"Damon, oh my _God_."

"That's not what I said. Now, again, repeat after me. I, Elena Gilbert,"

She stared incredulously at him for a moment, before she acquiesced, her eyes falling coyly to the floor. Was that the hint of a smirk tugging up the side of her mouth? "I, Elena Gilbert," she repeated.

"Do solemnly swear,"

"Do solemnly swear,"

"To not go into the basement without Damon."

Another eye roll. "To not go into the basement without Damon."

"And to admit I have a thing for Damon,"

"And to admit I have a thing for-oh, Damon, you ass!"

"Yes, I've heard I have a great one."

"Urgh!" Elena exclaimed, stomping her way around him and out the door, her cheeks tinted red. He smirked. God, he loved messing with her. It was always an opportunity to bring out a different side of her, to explore her.

Shaking his head, he started back for his bathroom, before a voice at the door interrupted him. "Oh, and Damon?" Elena's voice said. He turned around, confused by her tone. It was playful and mischievous, as was her expression. Elena had paused in his doorway, an idea apparently popping into her mind. She smirked, looking him directly in the face.

"If your bed was that great, I can't _wait _to see how incredible your shower is." Sending him a wink, she ducked out of the doorway as quickly as she'd appeared, leaving him standing dumbfounded in the middle of his bedroom. He'd certainly not seen _that _side of her directed toward him before. But if Elena wanted to play this game, Damon thought deviously, he would damn well play it with her.


	3. Chipped Mugs And Self Doubt

Elena made her way down the staircase that led into the parlor of the boarding house; admittedly with more haste and redder cheeks than usual. _Why_ had she said that? Why had she _done _that? He had been aggravating her and she'd stormed off, as per usual, but it was different now (_they _were different) because they'd spent the night sleeping in the same bed and—and then she remembered last night's cuteness and compared with this morning's teasing and intensity, the moment didn't stand a chance of stopping there, and neither did her feelings. So she'd stopped short in the hallway and practically sauntered back to the doorway of his bedroom, deciding without a second thought as to common sense that he wasn't the only one who could make smart remarks and mess with other people's heads.

She hoped he would forget it, but that idea was almost laughable. Elena knew he would retaliate somehow, probably with something she would never expect, and she cursed her heart for kicking up its speed in excitement at the thought.

She shook her head, trying to put the thoughts behind her as she entered the new-age style kitchen. She'd bet Damon designed it, judging by the millionaire-esque vibe it had going on.

She had the idle thought as she searched the pantries that she'd have to remember to persuade one of the brothers to go grocery shopping. There was a carton of eggs and a gallon of milk in the fridge, along with a few other various items. She wished they had orange juice and granola bars, which is all she really wanted right now. No dice.

Sighing, she put on a pot of overly expensive (but amazing) smelling coffee, trudging her way back toward the parlor to wait. She grazed over the massive selection of books, finding a few that she recognized and flipping through their pages fondly, but within a few moments, that grew boring. Before long, she heard the coffee machine beep shrilly, and made a bee-line back to the kitchen. Just as she was pouring the piping hot liquid into a chipped orange mug she'd found while searching the cupboards, she heard something. The faint sound of music trailing down to her from upstairs piqued her interest and, blowing on her coffee to help it cool, she moved slowly towards the sound, the lyrics becoming clearer as she progressed.

_Stars shining bright above you_

_Night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you'_

_Birds singin' in the sycamore tree_

_Dream a little dream of me_

_Seriously? _She thought skeptically. Of course she _knew_ this song: everyone knew this song, but considering her and _Damon _were the only two conscious beings in the house, (that she was aware of, anyway. Maybe he kept a sorority girl or two hidden in the coat closet for emergencies.) Elena was befuddled by the fact that such a romantic song was blaring from his end of the house.

_Say nighty night and kiss me_

_Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me_

_While I'm alone, and blue as can be_

_Dream a little dream of me_

Regardless of what her gut was telling her was best, she continued on the route to Damon's room, feeling the shame of idiocy rise up in her when she remembered the last thing she'd said when standing in his doorway not even twenty minutes ago.

_Stars fading, but I linger on, dear_

_Still craving your kiss_

_I'm longing to linger til' dawn, dear_

_Just saying this_

As she rounded the corner of the hallway, she realized with a small gasp that this was _The Mamas and The Papas _cover of the song, which happened to be her _favorite _rendition. Why did he have to be playing her favorite version? She didn't openly welcome something else to like about Damon.

She caught her reflection in the mirror above the liquor cart, (because _of course, _being in _casa de Salvatore_ meant that carts of alcohol were located conveniently at each possible pit stop) and almost cried. Her make-up was smudged, there were bags under her eyes, and her hair!-oh, her hair was a rat's nest! She didn't know if she would ever be able to get the knots out. And the worst part was that she'd been walking around, so at ease, around Damon Salvatore The Sex God, without knowing that she looked like some over-worked homeless teen. With a drug problem. She almost negated the idea of even facing the black-haired wonder in her state, before a burst of self-confidence hit her. Because, _no_, she had a loving, sweet, _smoking hot _guy of her own that loved her bride-of-Frankenstein morning look. Admittedly, said guy was currently unconscious in the basement and dealing with anger issues and a need to feed on human blood, but they were working on that.

However, as she nudged open the partially cracked door of Damon's room, the very idea of Stefan was completely wiped from her thoughts.

Well, she'd certainly found the source of the music. It must have been a CD playing on his DVD player, the surround sound making the song sound like a beautiful symphony.

Her gaze fixed forward, she saw steam trailing in front of his flat-screen TV, and her gaze slowly trailed to the side, where his door-less, gigantic bathroom was.

_And there he was. _Oh, he was absolutely gorgeous, eyes closed, hair slicked back by the steaming hot water of the shower, singing shamelessly along to the song.

_Sweet dreams til' sunbeams find you_

_Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you_

He continued to sing in his deep sultry tones that made her body quiver. God, could he get any more perfect? She hated him. Her gaze trailed downward without her permission, and she gasped. Thankfully, (or _not, _her subconscious tuned in) the clear glass shower wall was fogged up enough that she couldn't see past the work of fucking art that were his hips, and as he turned to rinse himself off, she caught a glimpse of the top of his bum, which just about killed her.

_But in your dreams, whatever they be_

_Dream a little dream of me_

"Oh, God." _Jesus fucking Christ, yes I will. _

Not realizing she'd spoken aloud, Elena was shocked senseless when Damon lifted his head, staring her dead in the eyes.

/

**Hey guys, sorry it's taken me so long to update. I haven't forgotten about you; I just hope you haven't forgotten about me. Can't wait to see what happens next? Follow the story to find out soon. **


	4. Love of Old Photographs

**Very short chapter today, you guys. I know I've been completely neglecting this story, but I just wrote this last chapter a while ago, because I had a sudden inspiration. Worst updater ever, I'm sorry. I hope some of the fans of this story are still around!**

Damon was humming quietly to himself as he placed the CD in the player, extremely chipper with the scene playing out in his mind. It was damn near perfect. Elena would get curious and walk up the stairs and into his bedroom, and he'd be there, sexy as _hell, _(he had to admit) and whatever happened next...well, that could be left up to the imagination.

Still in fine spirits, he began casually stripping, throwing his clothing behind him as he strolled into the bathroom, steam already filling the large marble room. He almost didn't want to admit that, in the back of his mind with thoughts he hardly acknowledged, he was imagining that Elena was already in the room, watching him. No, because those thoughts might indicate that she was more to him—more than a _toy—_and even though he knew that to be true, he fought against those feelings with everything he had. It hadn't been part of his plan, but as he stood under the spray of hot water, he got lost in the feel of being enveloped in a cloud of steam, too engrossed in his own muddled thinking to notice her until he heard the murmured sound of her voice in the bedroom. He chastised himself internally for not paying closer attention, for being caught off guard by a human—but he was soon rewarded when he looked up and met her eyes from directly across the room. Her brown eyes were both light and dark, the thinned outer rim of gold complementing the deeper, lust-filled almost-black of her pupils. She was as still as even a vampire could be, and if it weren't for the short intakes of breath he could barely hear over the loud water, he would've said she wasn't even breathing.

His mind was blank.

He'd had a plan on what to say, right? He'd totally known how he was going to play with her, what buttons he was going to push, but now...nothing. Luckily, he was able to keep his mouth from noticeably floundering and trying to capture words that weren't there. They stood there, the space of a room between them, for a few never-ending moments, staring at each other helplessly, the steam and music between them the only thing distracting their minds from each other.

Finally, Damon cleared his thoughts enough to speak, voice less suave than he'd like it to be. "You know, most people would knock." He tried his trademark smirk, but soon found that he was too...nervous? His lips were shaky when he tried to pull them up. What did this girl do to him?

Elena was no better; he could practically feel the way her broken breaths shuddered in the air around them, and could hear her heart skipping every third beat in anticipation.

"Not when the door is open," she whispered over the sound of the water. "That plus the music was practically an invitation for me to waltz right in."

In fact, she knew it'd been an invitation—or a trap. One that he'd lured her into. Her indignation helped her push her embarrassment (and whatever other feelings may have been forcing themselves upon her) to the very back of her mind. Knowing that it was the last thing he would expect her to do, Elena rolled her shoulders to relax herself, and started browsing his room. She strolled as easily as she could manage over to his bedside table, and browsed through the stack of books sitting there. She was surprised to see a vintage copy of _Gone With the Wind_, and under that another copy, this time some sort of collector's edition. It must have been one of his favorites, she realized with a shock. The book named the best romance of all time was one of Damon Salvatore's favorites? Who would have thought. Mirroring what he often did to her, Elena picked up one of the copies, and threw herself on his bed, which she noticed had been made since she'd last slept in it. She opened the book up, flipping through some of her favorite scenes, for she was quite fond of the story herself, and crossed her legs at the ankles in a close imitation of him. She made a point of snuggling back into the firm pillows, letting out a contented sigh. "So are you Team Rhett or Team Ashley?" she called.

She couldn't really believe it herself, how nonchalant she was being; with the tomb vampires still out roaming around, John being back in town, and Stefan being literally locked up in the basement below them with a case of Blood Lust Fever. Because of her, she thought—because she'd been the one to feed him her blood in the first place. Everything was a mess, and she was acting as if all that mattered were her and Damon's witty banter sessions. It must have been the shock of it all, she thought, and it was just now setting in. Because she was behaving like Old Elena would have behaved. Old Elena was the person she'd been before her parents had died, wild and uncaring and free. The thought that Damon sure would have had fun with Old Elena had crossed her mind many times before, and did so again now, as she sat reclined on his pillows.

She heard Damon laugh at her audacity, a curt, surprised sound that made her want to crack another joke to set him guffawing. She didn't. "Definitely Team Rhett!" he called back, his voice echoing. She didn't dare look up at him again for fear that she would be caught drooling. Seeming to have come out of his trance, Damon kept on with his babbling, and as he talked she rolled to the other side of his massive bed and hopped off of it, exploring more of his room. She'd known Damon for a long while, and yet she'd never had a chance to enter his room before last night. She rummaged through some papers on his desk, coming up with some old photos of him, some so old that they showed in black and white. There were pictures of him everywhere; the White House, The Taj Mahal, and even, if she wasn't mistaken, a fairly recent one of him relaxing on a bench next to the Seine, arms outspread as the sunset stretched in an array of orange and pink behind him. "Wow," she whispered as Damon yammered on in the background about the aspects of Rhett Butler (which was funny in and of itself). She wished she could just fold that picture up in her pocket and take it with her. It was so beautiful (he was so beautiful) and all she knew in that moment was that she had to be able to pull that picture out and look at it whenever she wanted. It was too amazing for her to leave. In fact...

She glanced back at him, wishing she could take time to ogle his glistening body. His eyes were tightly shut as he washed out his soapy hair, and he seemed completely distracted with their one-sided conversation. So, carefully, keeping her eyes on him the entire time, she slipped the photo into her bra, making sure there was no way it was visible. She didn't_ know_, but she had the distinct feeling that Damon didn't let people even see, let alone _keep _his private, sentimental pictures. She would return it as soon as she made a copy of it, anyway. Or a few copies. In case she lost one. He would never even know.

As soon as he stopped to take a breath, she spoke. "Damon, your argument is very convincing, but these clothes," she motioned to her attire, even though his eyes were still closed. "are getting really uncomfortable." At that, his eyes snapped open and riveted in on her. He quirked an eyebrow suggestively at her, and she knew exactly what dirty thoughts were going through his mind. Her blush showed even as she rolled her eyes, and she waved him off. "I'm going to Stefan's room to see if I've left any of my clothes in there." she said pointedly, eyes narrowed. As she was walking out the door she heard him call, "Hey, if not, don't fret it! I prefer you without clothes anyway!"

_What a complete asshole! _She thought, but still, she found herself smiling.


End file.
